Touch
by StoneandSilence
Summary: The Handler knows he's more unsettled by a caress against his skin than a bullet through his shoulder and she takes full advantage of the fact. A companion piece to 'The Boy At The End Of The World'


She knows he doesn't like being touched.

She's watched him for years now, first as he struggled to survive in a dead world, and again as he struggled to acclimate to a living one. He'd lived for forty years alone, nothing but a silly plastic doll for company. Understandable he'd be a bit nervous around people again and it was a boundary she was happy enough to respect while he was working for her. She didn't _want_ nervous. Nervous employees made mistakes, and timeline preservation was a very delicate business. Besides, she had invested too highly in his potential not to treat him with the utmost care. Her reputation and goodwill with her superiors was riding on his successful rehabilitation.

After all, he was originally flagged as a target.

Oh yes. Did one think they could simply warp to humanities' end, live out their days somewhere they weren't meant to be and _not_ be noticed by the Temps Aeternalis? He'd been added to the list of corrections as low-priority, it having been decided his effect on the overall timeline was distinct but minor. After all, there was nothing left for him to influence to any large degree. Oh, there was a small chance of him stepping on a pile of rubble and causing a miniature avalanche that would wipe out a group of insects scheduled to evolve over the next billion years into the planet's next sentient life form, but it was a remote possibility.

So she placed a watch detail on him. Should the insects be threatened, he would be immediately terminated. Beyond that he was simply to be kept under surveillance until he died on his own or a team could be dispatched to deal with him. To be honest they had far more pressing concerns, and the budget was tight. Not nearly enough field agents to go around.

In lateral time it took her about thirty years to get back around to him.

By then he'd became something of a celebrity. There were three separate betting pools wagering on how long he'd live, how much he could drink before he died of alcohol poisoning and whether or not he'd work out how to jump backwards in time without vaporizing himself. The reports back from the surveillance team became office highlights; they talked about the old codger over lunch. Safe to say he was a bit of a favorite.

He should have been killed, really. She offered him a job instead.

She appealed to her superiors using the one weapon against which they had no defense; money. After all, the budget for corrections was due to be slashed again and the work was piling up. With proper rehabilitation, she argued, Five could be turned into a very effective field agent. The old dear already had extensive combat training thanks to his childhood, and as demonstrated could be relied upon to keep himself alive in nearly any environment. His isolation from humanity would suit his profession well, and his ability to teleport had the potential to save them vast sums of money by assigning him solo missions which would normally require the attention of multiple agents.

It was that last bit they really paid attention to.

And so she was granted a small window of fifty years or so to rehabilitate him (her employers being a bit fuzzy about lateral time progression and the average human lifespan) and then she sent him out into the world, proud as any mother.

He exceeded her every expectation. Oh, he was extraordinary indeed. Fast, ruthless, breathtakingly efficient. He racked up jobs by the score, corrections stacked behind him like days. He never questioned a single order, never asked why. He was absolutely perfect, a living legend, and his success was hers as well.

And then he broke his contract. How very disappointing.

She acknowledges that she handled the situation a bit poorly at first in that she didn't immediately send her best people to terminate him. But Hazel and Cha-Cha were on assignment elsewhere and she decided not to wait. She just really, _really_ wanted him dead; she can admit that now. It was an unprofessionally emotional reaction and it clouded her judgement a wee bit. But she also knew what he was capable of and so instead of risking commission lives she sourced local mercenaries from his own timeline and hired every one of them she could find within fifty miles.

It took them longer to lace up their boots than it did for Five to kill them.

The next meeting with her employers was unpleasant to say the least. Just as Five's success had reflected well on her, his betrayal of the Commission and the subsequent havoc he was wreaking on the timeline reflected very poorly indeed, and she left with the understanding that she was being held personally responsible for the resolution of the conflict, and that furthermore failure to do so would have rather severe consequences for her.

More than once she wished the clever old bastard had never been born. (A tempting thought but unfortunately his birth was one of those marked events that had to happen and couldn't be circumvented. She'd checked.)

She sent her best team after him and wasn't surprised that they had no real luck; he was a legend for a reason. In the meantime his mere existence was destabilizing the timeline and her teams efforts to apprehend him only made things worse. Thus she found herself exploring alternative avenues of success, and decided the best course of action was to keep her new enemy very close indeed.

If she couldn't kill him, she would promote him.

If she could keep him in the home office he'd be removed from the timeline (indeed he'd be removed from _every_ timeline). She would only need a few days of lateral time for the apocalypse to occur on schedule and then she could wash her hands of the business. She didn't fancy having him hanging about but it seemed the best option. The delicate fabric of the time-stream couldn't handle much more muddling.

Not that she trusted him an inch. Not after all the trouble he'd caused. Her employers were understandably wary of such a proposal but she won them over in the end and before long Mister Five was back working as her direct subordinate.

And she made sure he knew it.

For all the success of his rehabilitation he'd never gotten used to being touched again. She had respected that once, back when respect seemed to mean something to him. Now though, well. Now she invades his space constantly, tauntingly even, in ways both large and small. Forever letting their shoulders brush together, or leaning in a little too close, pressing against him when it's not at all necessary or trailing her fingers down his cheek. She knows he's more unsettled by a caress against his skin than a bullet through his shoulder and she takes full advantage of the fact.

It's a subtle display of dominance, one they both understand and it gives her a small spark of mean satisfaction to watch him stiffen every time she gets too close. Which she does. Constantly. But not even he's rash enough to move against her directly and so he's little choice but to stand there with his fists clenched helplessly in his pockets and his jaw clamped shut, waiting for her to withdraw.

It was all a bit petty perhaps but one takes life's little enjoyments where one can. Anyway, she doesn't want Five forgetting which one of them holds the real power.


End file.
